


First Day

by vehlr



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-01
Updated: 2016-01-01
Packaged: 2018-05-10 23:32:14
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,959
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5605084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vehlr/pseuds/vehlr
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Varric Tethras is wearing a kilt - reds and golds and a shot of black and purple that sat comfortably around his waist as if he had been born to wear it. Which, she supposes, he had.</p>
<p>Cassandra, were she of a mind to, could <i>swoon.</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	First Day

_The traditional start of the year, this holiday involves visits to neighbors and family (in remote areas, this was once an annual check to ensure everyone was alive), as well as a town gathering to commemorate the year past, accompanied by drinking and merriment._

Myra sighs, chin resting in her hands as she stares out the window. It was so dark already, and the day was nowhere near over yet. Even high in the mountains, the sun was gone too soon. Winter was unforgiving in that regard, and she did not care for it.

**Knock knock.**

She tears her eyes away from the window to find a lone figure in the doorway, wide smile and kind eyes, company she would always choose to keep.

“Varric! What brings you to my door today?”

“Can’t a dwarf just want to say hi to his favourite Inquisitor?” he drawls, leaning against the frame.

She shoots him a look. “He can, but he rarely does. We are all far too busy for pleasantries.”

“True enough. But this one, I promise, is more than pleasant enough.” He comes into her chambers proper, taking the seat on the other side of her desk. “Do you know, Sister, what’s coming at the end of the month?”

She frowns, trying to think -

“Oh. First Day. _Already?_ ”

“It’s been a hell of a year,” he points out with a wry smile. “All the more reason to celebrate.”

“Yes. Oh, _definitely_.” She straightens, smiling. “A big Marcher party.”

“You read my mind, Myra. I’ll talk to the requisitions officer if you talk to Ruffles.”

“Deal. Oh, and will you be wearing your colours, Master Tethras?”

“It’d be a damned shame if I didn’t.”

“Excellent.”

* * *

Cassandra wakes up to a day like any other - dark and cold and holding only the promise of work to be done. She meets with the Commander and the latest batch of recruits in a clearing outside of the keep and go through drills until the sun crawls up into the sky.

It is not until the drills are over that she remembers.

“Oh, Cassandra?”

“Commander?”

“Happy First Day.”

She blinks, and then smiles. “So it is. Happy First Day, Cullen.”

He laughs as they walk back up to the Keep. “Another year. May it be a kinder one than the last.”

“Indeed. Though you have gone from strength to strength, as has our cause. It has not been all bad, friend.”

“True enough.”

They cross the bridge in silence - Cassandra’s thoughts lingering on the losses of the last year, and Cullen’s no doubt on his own progress - but as they near the gate a hubbub of noise greets them.

“What is going on?”

Cullen smiles. “Didn’t Varric tell you? Marchers take First Day quite seriously.” And he calls for the gates to be opened.

The wall of noise that hits them is joyous, and Cassandra cannot help but smile at the sight of the soldiers and volunteers laughing and celebrating. Many of them, despite the relative early hour of the day, have a drink in hand. The Marchers are easy enough to identify - the colours of their families adorning their waists and shoulders like a wonderful patchwork. Cassandra had always admired their pride in their history.

And then she spots Varric - her lover, and the apparent mastermind of the celebration - and stops dead in her tracks.

Varric Tethras is wearing a kilt - reds and golds and a shot of black and purple that sat comfortably around his waist as if he had been born to wear it. Which, she supposes, he had.

Cassandra, were she of a mind to, could _swoon_.

“Hey!” His face lights up at the sight of her, and she feels a swell in her chest, her heart responding to his. She smiles as he comes over to meet her. “Thought you might have been too busy.”

“What _is_ all this?”

“It’s First Day,” he laughs. “Did you forget?”

She shakes her head. “This is… unlike any First Day celebration I have seen.”

“You need to hang out with more Marchers. This is actually pretty low-key, compared to the ones me and Hawke used to throw.”

“I shudder to think.”

He grins, a crooked thing as he looks up at her. “You’re staring.”

She can feel the blush across her cheeks, but smirks. “You are displaying, dwarf. I had rather forgotten you _had_ legs.”

“Very funny.” He gives her a twirl. “So what do you think?”

“I think I would be very interested in what is underneath your colours -”

“Eurgh!” Sera throws an arm around Cassandra’s neck, grinning despite the retching noises. “You two’re gross. It’s _weird_.”

Varric laughs. “Why?”

“Cos you’re usually so private about it.” She wrinkles her nose. “You’re like our mum and dad. We don’t wanna know the squishy bits. _Gross_.”

Cassandra scoffs. “I am no mother.”

_“Family, must protect them, must do better for them - strange and odd but wonderful and mine. I am their shield, I will not fail again.”_

The blush that had begun at Varric’s teasing turns darker as Cole reveals her thoughts. At her side Sera stills, arm squeezing the Seeker gently.

Varric, reliably, lightens the mood.

“Kid, you’re grounded.”

Cole’s face falls, and Cassandra reaches out to him -

“Damnit,” groans Varric as the spirit vanishes. “He still hasn’t gotten the hang of sarcasm when it’s directed at him. I’ll go get him.”

“He’s weird,” mutters Sera, before yanking Cassandra over to the inn. “Come on, you need a drink!”

The pair quickly find themselves with drinks thrust upon them, and Sera drags her over to a table already occupied by Thom Rainier, Cullen and the Inquisitor - the latter looking radiant bedecked in her own family colours and a bright smile for her friend.

“Cassandra!”

“Myra. Happy First Day.”

“And to you! Come, sit with us.”

She perches awkwardly on the stool next to the man she struggles to call by name. Rainier - no, Blackwall? She was not sure - did not look at her. A silence falls upon them, and she lets out a soft sigh.

Myra looks at her expectantly.

“What am I to call you?” she asks finally, and she feels him shift.

“Whichever name you feel most comfortable with, Lady Seeker.”

She swallows, closing her eyes. She might regret this, giving him an inch, but… it is hard, being angry. She is out of practice since Adamant, since Varric and her buried the hatchet. She is tired of secrets and lies, and he is - now, at least - trying.

“Cassandra.” She turns to look at him. “Call me Cassandra.”

Myra makes a soft noise.

He offers a weak smile. “Call me Rainier,” he says quietly.

Something passes over them, and she smiles back.

“Cassandra, Cullen tells me you were kept in the dark about this.”

She turns back to Myra, nodding. “Apparently so.”

“I wonder why Varric wouldn’t mention it. He’s usually so forthcoming about -”

“Hawke,” supplies Cullen. “It used to be something they shared.”

“He said something about Hawke earlier,” murmurs Rainier.

“Kirkwall was one huge party on First Day, thanks to those two. When Myra told me he was up to something, I was… concerned. But this is good.”

Cassandra rests her chin on her hand. “I did not even know he had his own colours,” she admits. “I still have much to learn about him.”

“That’s the fun part, I suppose.” Myra smiles as she curls her fingers around Cullen’s. “Learning all there is to know about someone.”

Rainier makes a noise that might have been disgust or approval. “I think I need another drink,” he murmurs, raising to find one. Myra chuckles at his retreating back.

“Was it something I said?”

Cassandra smiles. “Perhaps.” Draining her own cup, she stands. “I should find Varric. Please, excuse me.” She bids the pair farewell, heading out of the inn.

A familiar voice calls out. “ _There_ you are.”

She smiles as Varric appears at her elbow, beaming up at her.

“Is Cole alright?”

“Yeah. We had a… strange conversation about me being a good dad, and then I lost him to the Chargers.”

Her heart swells at the thought of Varric with a child on his knee. Perhaps even - no. She had never entertained the thought before, and now was not the time to consider it. They still had Corypheus to defeat, after all, and who knew what lay beyond that. But it was a warming thought nonetheless.

“Varric, I -”

Cassandra suddenly feels the ground fall away as an arm wraps around her waist and hoists her up. The Iron Bull laughs, a booming loud noise made only more cacophonous by the drink.

“Seeker!”

She sighs. “Bull, put me _down_.”

“It’s First Day, I don’t have to do anything.”

“I think you are missing the point of this celebration.”

He grins, squeezing her gently. “Naah.”

Beside him, Dorian regards Varric. “You’re a dwarf with colours,” he says finally. “Isn’t that strange?”

“Come on, Sparkler. I’m a Marcher before any claim to dwarf nature, you know that.”

“True. You hate caves.” As he lifts his cup to his mouth, he adds quietly, “amongst other things.”

Cassandra snorts.

“So how do you get to wear that stuff?” asks Bull.

Dorian hums. “It’s usually a hereditary thing, isn’t it? A family has their own set of colours -”

“Clan,” corrects Cassandra, as Bull finally lowers her back on solid ground. “Each clan has a set of colours, and a crest. It goes back to before the Free Marchers were as united as they are today. But there were few dwarf clans.”

“One,” admits Varric. “And not mine. I’m the first. Decided I wanted it, so I got it all in writing.”

“You just - _made_ a clan?” Dorian’s eyes sparkle with approval.

“Nothing stopping me.” Varric grins. “Not like there’s any other Tethrases out there to take it from me.”

“Are you a _true_ Marcher, Varric?”

Cassandra laughs, and Bull frowns.

“What does that mean?”

“True Marchers,” explains Dorian, “wear nothing under their kilt. Or so it goes.” He looks expectantly at the dwarf, who grins as he wraps an arm around the Seeker’s waist.

“I’m sure the Seeker’ll let you know later,” he says lightly.

“I am quite sure I will _not_ ,” she adds, laughing as Dorian pouts.

“And that’s our cue,” laughs Bull, nudging the mage gently.

“Is it?”

“Trust me, it is. Have fun, you two!”

She watches the pair head out into the throng, shaking her head slightly, before Varric takes her by the hand and turns her to face him.

“Hey, now that I’ve got you on your own, I wanted to tell you something.”

His eyes are soft in the light of the candles, his smile gentle. Cassandra takes his hands in hers, thumbs running over the pads of his palms.

“I love you,” she says softly.

His smile gives way to surprise. “How did you know I was going to -”

“Varric, _I_ love _you_.” She laughs. “I am not guessing at _your_ words, I am telling you my own.”

“Oh.” A beat. “ _Oh_.” He pulls her down into a soft embrace. “I love you.”

“Apparently,” she laughs, and she can feel his grin through her gambeson. “But I am glad of it.”

“Yeah?” He pulls back, reaching up to stroke her cheek. “Me too.”

“So…”

He quirks an eyebrow up, and she smiles.

“ _Are_ you a true Marcher, Varric?”

He laughs, and she is struck by the urge to kiss him, despite the public setting. So she does.

The smug look on his face as he pulls away is both annoying and wonderful. “You’ll just have to find out, won’t you?”

* * *

Later, much later, she pulls him into the armory to find out.

She is not disappointed.

**Author's Note:**

> Happy New Year! I hope 2016 is kind to you all.


End file.
